


To Wrestle in Dirt

by Vlaityn



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:18:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2641259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vlaityn/pseuds/Vlaityn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Anything for yourself, Teague Martin.” a chilling voice dances the truthful utterance behind Martin, in front of him, inside of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Wrestle in Dirt

**Author's Note:**

> shoddy title taken from "No Dog" by Esben and the Witch!

Martin smokes.

In general, yes, Martin smokes; has smoked for years, the strains of Morley tobacco never really leave his lungs, his blood, his soul. The earthy and bitter scent never truly wearing off his person, despite the Abbey forbidding active Overseers from partaking in the indulgence (Rampant Hunger, Restless Hands). But he’s _High_ Overseer Martin now, so fuck the Abbey.

There is a fallow tone to the smoke the wisps lazily off the end of the cigarette, before it disperses amongst the rest of the gray mist that is choking Kingsparrow Island. With his next exhale, Martin adds another cloud to the smothering mass outside, watching his insignificant contribution dissipate into nothing when the pain in his chest returns furiously because its Emily, Emily is laughing so carefree and-

_“Again!” She’s grinning wide up at him, arms stretched up as she takes her innocent mirth in running her fingers through the vapor, “Please, Overseer Martin? Can you make them bigger?” And he’s seen too many bodies today and too many rats, chanted too many damning Strictures, but Emily has him breaking down into an amused smirk. He acquiesces and blows another smoke ring. “Anything for my Empress,” he cocks an eyebrow and Emily giggles behind her hand._

Anything for the Empress, anything for Dunwall, anything for the Empire, for the powers-to-be, the powers-that-will, the powers-that-are..

“Anything for yourself, Teague Martin.” a chilling voice dances the truthful utterance behind Martin, in front of him, inside of him. Its soft enough to be written off as imagination, as a foggy breeze, but Martin knows if he were near a mirror, he would catch a glimpse of a pale man with sunken, hallow eyes whispering it to him, rather than the wind.

Martin stubs out the filter under leather clad fingers on the stone windowsill before flipping his case open, intent on lighting up again. His cigarette case has only two occupants left, and Martin feels himself hesitate over grabbing another. Sighing, he snaps the case shut and slides it back into its inside coat pocket.

There was no reason for a sinner to suffer alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe with Lord Pendelton later? I fully intended on it.


End file.
